by Liz K. Lorde
As I watch them make their way past the other spectators, I go back into my little shell. If it were up to me, I’d be at home with a hot chocolate in my hand, watching one of Tanner’s favorite children’s shows in bed.
As my eyes drift over the crowd at this baseball game, I can’t help but think about Shawn. He loved baseball.
In fact, I think about him day and night. Not a moment goes by when he’s not in my thoughts.
Over time, I’ve come to accept this as part of my life. In the beginning, I fought it until it hurt.
Now, I know it’s a way for me to deal with it. It might not be a very healthy way, but it’s the best I can do right now.
Maybe if there had been a body, it would be different. Without a body, there’s always that shred of hope, no matter how miniscule.
Sure, James came back and told me he saw Shawn die before he got dragged out of their fatal position in Afghanistan, caught in enemy fire in an old crumbling building. But somehow, my mind refuses to accept this.
For a while, in the early days, I used to see a counsellor, but after a few sessions, I gave up. All the counsellor was focused on was getting me to accept reality.
James has been pestering me to have Shawn declared dead since it’s been seven years. But so far, I’ve not been able to make myself do it.
It might be silly, it might be wrong, but I just can’t get myself to say it aloud. And I figure, what’s the rush?
Of course, I know why James is pressing the issue. So far, I’ve resisted his advances, and to give him credit, he’s not been too pushy.
The few times he tried to kiss me, I resisted.
James, it seems, works on the principle of ‘persistence pays off’.
Sure, he’s okay with Tanner, but there’s no way he’d be as good with him as his own father—as Shawn.
I don’t have any evidence of this, other than a gut feeling. I only found out I was pregnant after Shawn went MIA. It was one of the worst times in my life.
“Look at this, Mommy.” Tanner waves a baseball bat in front of my nose.
“That’s great, sweetie.”
“It’s even got a signature on it.” He holds it so close in front of my eyes, I can barely focus.
I laugh and push it back a little.
“If you hold it that close, I won’t be able to see a thing.”
“When will it start, James?”
His big eyes look up at James in anticipation.
James looks at his watch. “Five more minutes, and the first ball will be thrown, my friend.”
Tanner can’t sit still. He’s bouncing up and down in his seat, and when he actually sits for a moment, he starts kicking the seat in front of him.
“Tanner.” I put my hand on his leg to try and calm him down. But it’s hard for a little six-year-old to sit still.
“When will they start? Why is it taking so long?”
These are all valid questions—and reasons I didn’t want to come to this game too early, but James insisted we had to have the whole pre-game experience and not be late.
“Not much longer, Tanner,” James replies and gives me his biggest smile.
I hope he won’t ask to stay the night again. It gets harder and harder to come up with excuses. Every time I tell him it’s too soon, he rolls his eyes.
The other day, he actually made some sarcastic remark about it having been seven years since Shawn went missing.
I don’t think he appreciates how much we loved each other.
“Mom, Mom, look!” Tanner is shouting.
“What?”
“We’re on the jumbotron.”
Holy shit. We really are.
Tanner jumps up in his seat and does all kinds of acrobatic moves. As I’m about to grab onto him, James takes my hand.
I look at him, and he’s on his knees, a little velvet box in his hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see we’re still on the big screen.
My heart starts to beat faster, and I fear I might pass out. Please, no. Oh my God, don’t do it.
“Evelyn,” he starts, and I hear the general hubbub around us die down.
Suddenly, it’s so quiet, I understand the expression “you can hear a pin drop.”
“Evelyn. Will you marry me?”
My eyes start to water, and I feel several hundred thousand eyes upon me. It’s difficult to breathe. Tanner is unaware of exactly what’s going on; he’s too busy performing for the camera.
Tanner.
Is it fair to Tanner to stay single? Surely, he deserves a father, particularly since his real father won’t ever be there for him.
Quickly, I outweigh the negatives and the positives of this marriage proposal.
James is a good man. He’s not Shawn. No one will ever replace Shawn.
But Tanner needs a father, and while James doesn’t adore Tanner the way I do, he gets along well with him and makes an effort. And it seems like Tanner usually enjoys having James around.
A male figure and all…
I look at James, who looks hopefully at me. I look around. Everywhere, people are staring at me.
“Say yes,” some start to whisper around me, and soon, the entire stadium is chanting.
Just then, James holds the ring up to me. The diamond catches the light, and brilliant little sparkles dance across my eyes.
I sigh.
I close my own eyes.
It’s the right thing to do. It won’t get any better than this.
Shawn is gone.
According to James, he’s dead, a victim of war. Is it really fair to anyone that I keep living my life based on some unrealistic hope?
“Yes,” I say softly.
When James continues to stare at me questioningly, I repeat my answer, a bit firmer.
“Yes.”
Around me, the stadium erupts, and applause and fireworks appear on the screen and finally replace our image.
James puts the ring on my finger and stands up again. Before he can plant his lips on mine for a kiss, Tanner throws himself into my arms, blocking James’ mouth from reaching their target.
“Mom, I was on television. Did you see me?”
I nod, and tears roll down my cheek.
Tanner grabs my face with both his hands and gives me a big kiss.
“I wonder if any of my friends saw me?”
I’m so relieved he’s not aware of my emotional turmoil for once and focused on himself.
“I bet they did,” I tell him and hug him tight.
I’ve made the right decision. I’ve made the right decision.
I repeat it, mantra-like, hoping that if I say it enough, maybe I’ll come to believe it myself.
Chapter 3
Shawn
I cough and squint.
It’s difficult to see much in this dimly lit place. Thick smoke fills the air. It takes several seconds for my eyes to adjust.
It’s late afternoon, and the run-down joint is filled with the regulars. I know they’re regulars because I’ve come here every day at the same time for the last week or so.
You get a feel pretty quick for who comes to a joint like this all the time. They’re down-and-outers. Some of them might even be a bit like me—or should I say, some of them might even be a little bit like I am now.
I’m sure I wasn’t like this before—before the accident, before I suffered from this amnesia.
My life has split into before-the-war-injury and since-the-war-injury.
Who would have thought that serving your country could have such drastic effects on your life, maybe even ruin it?
Of course, since I’ve got no fucking idea of who and what I was before the accident, this could very well be a fucking improvement.
“Whiskey, straight,” I order and sit at a bar stool far to the left of everyone.
I don’t want to talk. I come here to have a drink, catch up on a bit of television, and get my fucking bearings.
The last thing I want is to start talking to one of the
se losers in here, share my life story—oh, wait a minute. I don’t have a fucking life story.
And that’s what makes it worse.
I have to tell people I served in Afghanistan, or so I’ve been able to piece together. When I first came to after the accident—not even sure if it’s right to call it an accident—my mind was a total blank.
No fucking idea who I was, where I was, or how I got there. Fucking scary as hell, I can tell you that.
There’s been one thing that has stayed with me, though. All this time.
I see the most beautiful woman in my mind’s eye. She’s there, day and night. She’s fucking gorgeous, and she whispers something about coming back.
“Hey, you got any spare change?”
My head snaps up. I’ve been in another world and didn’t see the man approach me. His coat is ripped, his pants are too short, and his fingernails look as if he’s been digging in the dirt all day.
“Sorry, no,” I mumble and keep my head down.
Hopefully, he’ll keep going without picking a fight.
He does.
I pick up my glass and take a sip. Fire rips through me.
For a while, I keep the glass in my hand and swirl the liquid, staring at it. The face of the woman looks at me through the amber liquid.
She’s so damn beautiful. If only I knew how to find her.
After seven years, I’ve found my way back to the USA. But now what?
I’ve got an address of where I apparently used to live. Fucking fantastic.
Every time I think of going to the address, my heart starts to beat faster in my chest, and I feel beads of sweat trickle down my back. All kinds of images come and go, none of them clear.
I squint in this dim smoky light.
The television across the room, one of those massive oversized ones, is flicking to a baseball match.
Baseball.
Absentmindedly, I stare at the screen. Strange kind of game, honestly.
For a few minutes, I wonder if maybe I used to be a star player like the ones talked about by the commentators.
But I soon realize this is a fucking stupid thought. If I indeed had been a super player, I would hardly have ended up as a SEAL.
Over time, as I recovered from the worst of my injuries, I learned I had been in Afghanistan with a troop of SEALs. Why the rest of my troop escaped and I didn’t is unclear. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.
At first, I was reluctant to return to the US. I mean, what fucking for? There was so little information I could get, it seemed I might as well stay and be useful in a country torn apart by the war.
Doctors Without Borders put me back together, and so I stayed and helped them with security.
Eventually, though, it was time to try and work out who I am and who this woman is. I need to find her, find out who she is and what she is to me. But so far, I’ve made very little fucking progress.
Private Ripper from admin gave me an address and told me that’s where I’d been listed as living at the time of leaving for Afghanistan.
“Shh, look,” a few patrons shout as a general hubbub erupts in the bar.
Without joining in or paying much attention, I bring my glass to my lips and gulp down the rest of my drink.
Through the amber liquid I see a woman. In front of her kneels a man. He’s holding a small velvet box out to her.
As I process what I’m seeing on the giant screen in front of me, people around me are now shouting, “Say yes!”
This can’t be. No fucking way.
It’s her. The woman I’ve been seeing in my mind.
My throat tightens, and breathing becomes difficult.
There’s no doubt about it. As my eyes zero in on her, there’s only one thing I know.
I have to find her.
She’s the key to my prior life. If she can’t tell me who I was and what significance she has in my life, no one can.
She seems to be shaking a little as she says, “Yes.”
Then the screen erupts in fireworks, and the words “Congratulations to the Happy Couple” appear in the background.
Will they give her name?
I hover on the edge of my seat as I wait for the critical information. But the next picture shows a close-up of a baseball player.
My fist slams onto the bench.
Fuck.
“No violence, buddy,” the barman calls over to me, obviously misreading my gesture.
Without another word, I leave the bar.
I practically run from the place.
Without thinking things through, I jump into my car and drive. Briefly, I put my hand into my pocket to feel the little scrap of paper with the address on it.
It’s still there.
Not that I need it. I know the address of the place I have to go to by heart.
It’s not a long drive. The closer I get, the slower I drive.
Suddenly, doubt is creeping through me.
Is this really a good idea? What if this woman doesn’t want to see me? What if she hates me, for a reason not known to me?
I brake and pull over.
With my head rested against the steering wheel, I run through possible scenarios, each one worse than the last.
After a while, I lift my head and take some deep breaths.
It dawns on me that the only way to find out what’s going to happen is to go through with it.
Slowly, I pull the car back into traffic and vow to just go to the address and knock on the door. Nothing can be worse than not knowing who I am, who she is, and what she means to me, if anything.
With the sun setting, the house I approach is bathed in a golden light. It looks like a nice place.
There’s a large green front lawn. Small hedges surround the outside edges, and in the middle of the right side of the property sits an ornamental tree.
No doubt about it, it looks like I lived in a pretty good neighborhood.
I breathe a sigh of relief; I’ve not ended up in an overcrowded part of the suburbs.
And then I see it.
I can’t help but furrow my brow when my gaze zeros in on the object. It takes me a little while to register what this means.
Once I park the car, I walk up the white pebble garden path, stopping at the “For Sale” sign.
A young man’s picture with his mobile number invites me to call for further inquiries.
I pull out my phone and dial the number.
By now, I’ve reached the front door, and I knock.
Nothing happens.
I knock again. Still nothing.
“Evan speaking,” I hear in my right ear.
“Evan,” I say and try not to let my nerves show through my voice. “I’m calling about the property for sale on Fifth.”
I listen for a minute before I can’t wait any longer to ask the one burning question.
“Can you tell me the name and address of the owner before this one?”
“Sorry.” Evan’s voice is loud and clear. “Privacy reasons. I can’t.”
With some thanks and no problem, I hang up. No point letting my disappointment and frustration out on this man who can’t help what’s happened.
Time to call Private Ripper and ask him to get me more information. If anyone can get me what I need to know, it’s him.
Chapter 4
Evelyn
One thing is sure—life as a single mom is tough and it doesn’t get any easier.
With a sigh, I glance at Tanner who is doing his best to ignore me.
“Do you want to see my collection of Pokémon cards?”
He’s looking at James with his best puppy dog impression. I’m sure any other man would have melted at this sight, but not James. I think James tries to accept Tanner and like him, but deep down he’s not that fond of my little six year old boy.
He’s never said anything and he’s always been pleasant to Tanner, but I can tell. A mother has a way of telling these things.
“Tanner,” I
put on my serious voice and a little scowl.
“It’s okay,” James starts, but I stop him.
“Don’t worry, it’s called a stalling tactic. Someone doesn’t want to go to bed.” At my words, my son’s shoulders slump forward and his chin drops onto his chest.
“But I’m not tired,” grumbles my six year old, who’s been yawning for the last hour and rubbing his eyes.
“I know,” I say and smile.
“Ehm,” James looks from me to Tanner and back again.
“Let’s see James out and then off to be with you.” I take charge and wrap my arms around my little boy.
This is clearly not what James had in mind. His face betrays him.
“Good night, you two,” he smiles, and it’s a forced smile.
“See ya,” Tanner yells and scurries away—no doubt to find something else to try to prolong the inevitable bedtime.
James lifts his hand in a wave but drops it, realizing the little boy is gone already.
“You’re sure?”
His eyes run from my lips to the top button of my tight blouse, and I suddenly wish I’d chosen something a little looser to wear.
It still doesn’t feel right to have another man look at me like this. The only one who should be looking at me this way, with desire, lust, and passion is Shawn.
Shawn.
How I miss him.
I miss him every second of every day. Those who say it gets easier are wrong. Maybe if there’d been a dead body it would be, but I doubt it.
Not a day goes by when I don’t think about Shawn or wish he were here by my side. It’s even worse when something significant with Tanner happens.
Tanner.
Poor Tanner was going to grow up without a father. Sure, James will be his stepfather, but it’s not the same. James will never ever be able to replace Tanner’s father, Shawn.
“You okay?”
I blink and nod, drawing my right arm around my waist. A little shiver runs down my back.
“Just a little tired,” I mumble and give him my brightest smile.
It’s so hard. Part of me knows I should be grateful for James, for being here for me, for helping me get over Shawn. And yet, a tiny part in me is angry with him. Why did he make it and Shawn didn’t?
